


Show Me Your Teeth

by Illuminahsti



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Depersonalization, Dissociation, Other, Peter Alias, Switch Peter Nureyev
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:48:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23168785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illuminahsti/pseuds/Illuminahsti
Summary: A diptych about using sex to deal with depersonalization.Part one: Peter returns from a con too deep in his persona to easily let it go. But Aldric Tourmaline is not a good man, and he wants to put him aside and be fully present with Juno. Juno takes Peter to bed and focuses all of his attention on him, until Peter can think of nothing else.Part two: Juno's depression sucks all the color out of the world and wraps it in gauze. With every sensation numbed, he will turn to dangerous things to bring life back into focus. Thankfully, Peter has a fox's teeth and a willingness to use them.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 21
Kudos: 211





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The two chapters are standalone one shots, but they work on the same themes, so they stay together as a single work.

Aldric Tourmaline is beautiful. He has to be. Beauty makes people trust you, makes them pliable, complacent. Aldric Tourmaline’s beauty covers up greed so deep that it would make a stockbroker’s skin crawl. Every person is a number, a bank account, a wallet waiting to be taken. People look at his heavy watch, his gold capped tooth, his snake skin shoes, and they know that he is vain, and rich, and they do not think to ask further questions.

Aldric Tourmaline has known the company of only the ultra-rich for the last week, as he asks them careful questions about their bank balances and their financial plans and gives them watery advice that sounds more knowledgeable than it is. Their daughters and sons watch him, but Aldric does not have time for them. He loves only money.

The daughters and sons of the ultra-rich also love only money, and so they see him, beautiful and dripping in jewels, and they are satisfied. They hang around him like wasps on meat; they buzz their questions in his ears. He is so immanently eligible, and yet unmarried. So handsome, so well dressed. They ask him to buy them baubles, they hang off his arm and finger his watch; they all hope he will leave these parties with more than just a business deal. To have a beautiful status symbol with deep pockets is all they aspire to, and they do not look past those things that Aldric can offer to them. They do not care who Aldric is.

Aldric collects notes on names and titles and bank account serials, he swipes credit cards and ID chips, he notes down the codes on treasure rooms. He puts together enough cash that the Carte Blanche can fly for a decade, and then he packs up his things, straightens his cuffs, and exits out the back of the hotel. 

* * *

The Carte Blanche seems shabbier than Aldric remembers, dingy and grey, and it is quiet when he comes aboard. He sends a quick text to the group thread, informing them of his return, and then he goes straight to his bunk to strip off his layers of satin and brocade.

Juno joins him just as he is stripping off his vest. He pushes open the creaking door and leans against the door frame, watching him with soft eyes.

For a moment, Aldric recoils from Juno’s scars, his asymmetry and his wrinkles, and then Peter Nureyev feels sick with himself. No persona should ever become such a lens that Juno, his Juno, beautiful stubborn righteous Juno, could ever be anything less than gorgeous and good and redeeming.

“How did it go?” Juno asks, voice a little rough with sleep, a little uncertain, and Peter hopes and prays that his momentary stupidity did not show on his face.

“Terrible,” he says, and regrets it instantly. “But I stole more than we were hoping for, and we can leave by tomorrow morning, and I’ll never have to—” he breaks off, disgust still pumping through him. He has spent too long with the rich, with their shallowness, and for a moment he was weak enough to consider himself one of them. His hands are shaking. He can’t undo the cuffs of his shirt, and they get stuck over his hands. He gives up, then kicks off his shoes with violent satisfaction. “I’m done with them for a long time.”

“That bad?” Juno asks.

“They don’t understand,” Peter groans, and his voice breaks. “I’m sure you know.”

“I have some idea, yeah.”

“Juno,” he says, and he isn’t even sure what he’s asking. “Juno.” He doesn’t recognize his own voice.

Juno crosses the small space and takes one of Peter’s trembling hands between both of his. His skin is rough and warm and when Peter closes his eyes, tears collect on his lashes and drip down his cheeks.

Juno undoes his cuffs, then gently slides the shirt off Peter’s shoulders. Peter opens his eyes to watch Juno carefully undo his pants and belt and slide them off too. There is more affection in the way Juno rests his hands on Peters hips than there was in two entire weeks with seductive billionaire ingénues. Peter stands in front of him in only his underwear and his socks, and if there were anyone else in the room, he would feel shamefully messy, but Juno has never made him feel that way. In this moment, it is not even that Juno makes him feel beautiful, because Juno is not caring for him because he is beautiful. He simply cares.

It is wonderfully, painfully, exhilaratingly real.

“I missed you,” Juno says, voice husky.

“I missed you too,” Peter says, and his voice shakes. Then he adds honestly, vulnerably, “Juno, I’m so tired.”

Juno’s lips quirk up as he raises his eyebrows and says, “Too tired to fool around?”

Their first kiss is brief and soft, before Peter’s body remembers Juno and it is all he can do not to drag Juno to his bed. Juno sighs against his lips and pulls their hips together, his fingertips rough and calloused against Peter’s delicate skin.

Their second kiss is hungry, Juno as eager as Peter, melting into him. Peter opens Juno’s mouth with his and holds his face between his shaking hands. Juno’s hands are tight on his ass and he pulls Peter forward so they are pressed flush together chest to thigh, Peter’s cock pressed against Juno’s belly, Juno’s body heat seeping into Peter’s lonely skin.

“Oh,” Peter moans to Juno. He has missed this, the familiar contours of Juno’s curves and softness, the wiry texture of the hairs on the nape of his neck, the desperate way he pants against Peter’s lips, already out of breath from eagerness.

“Fuck,” Juno agrees. He shifts, presses against Peter’s thigh, the fabric of his jeans rough against Peter’s bare skin. He asks, “What do you want?”

“Would it be cliché to answer ‘you’?”

Juno laughs. “You have me. I meant, do you want to fuck me or do you want to go to sleep?”

Peter rests his hands on Juno’s broad shoulders and digs his fingers into the heft of his upper arms. He is momentarily distracted by the scar that crosses the bridge of Juno’s nose, the skin rougher and lighter and puckered around the edges, evidence of some noble fight that makes him look rugged and interesting and devastatingly handsome. For all the makeup Peter wears, for all that he tailors his clothes and colors his hair, he will never be viscerally magnetic the way Juno is. He wants to be consumed by Juno, enveloped by him, breathe in his skin and sweat and reality.

“I want…” Peter struggles to voice everything he wants from Juno. The galaxy. A kiss. Eternity. To be fucked until he can’t breathe.

Juno’s thick brows furrow, and he reaches up to cup Peter’s cheek in his hand and skims his thumb across Peter’s cheekbone.

“Will you take care of me?” Peter asks softly.

Juno’s eyes soften, the worry smoothed out. “Of course, sweetheart. Get in bed.”

“My makeup—”

“I’ll take care of it. Hang on.”

Juno leaves and returns a minute later with Peter’s makeup remover and a damp washcloth. Peter sits on the head of his bunk, propped up with pillows, and waits for him. Juno strips off his clothes down to his underwear and straddles Peter’s knees so he can reach his face. He takes Peter’s glasses off, folds them, and places them on the bedside table.

He gently wipes Peter’s face with makeup remover, cold from the bathroom, and then he replaces it with the warm washcloth. Peter sighs contentedly and lets Juno do it.

“I didn’t think you knew what any of my products were.”

“I’ve worn makeup before,” Juno says gruffly, but when Peter peaks at him, he is smiling, just a little out of focus. “Besides,” he continues, “I’ve watched you take it off plenty of times. I didn’t get your night cream though, I’m not fucking you while you have that caked on your face.”

Peter smiles without deciding to. His whole face feels soft. “That seems fair.”

Juno makes a little noise, halfway between a moan and a sigh. “You know, I can tell when you’re smiling and you really mean it, because your eyes crinkle up.”

“Oh? My night cream must not be doing its job.” Peter’s words are upset, but he doesn’t really feel the sting. With Juno, it feels okay. He feels warm no matter what he’s worried about.

“I like it,” Juno said. “You’re so fucking hot when you smile.”

Peter can’t help it. He smiles wider, feels likes he’s melting at all the points where their skin touches. Juno puts the washcloth on the side table and moves up Peter’s legs to straddle his lap. He takes Peter’s face in his warm, rough hands, and kisses him.

It’s the kind of kiss that should have music playing underneath it. It’s a kiss that removes the separation between Peter and Juno and makes them one being, sharing breath and desire. Peter feels beautiful and loved and wanted and he pulls Juno even closer, his hands against the fullness of Juno’s thighs, and he hopes that Juno can feel even a fraction of what he is feeling.

“I love you,” Peter says, and it slips out as easy as breathing. He means it every time he says it, but this time he didn’t decide to put voice to feelings. He didn’t say it for Juno’s benefit.

“I love you,” Juno answers, and kisses the corner of Peter’s mouth. He cradles Peter’s face, kisses his cheek, his forehead, his lips. “Oh, I missed you.”

“I don’t like being gone for so long,” Peter says, and this too, is undecided. The words fall from his lips, raw and true, and Juno catches them.

“Next time I’ll come with,” Juno says.

“Unfortunately, I think being visibly besotted with someone else might ruin my chances of tricking an heiress out of her money.”

“Too bad,” Juno says. “If I can’t come, I’ll send you off with lipstick on your collar and a chain around your neck and they’ll send you right back to me.”

“Do it now,” Peter begs. “I want anyone who looks at me to know I’m yours.”

“Are you sure?” Juno asks, and his hands are still now, his brow furrowed.

“I’m sure,” Peter says. “I want you to mark me, and I want you to fuck me until you’re all I can think about.”

Juno chuckles. “If you insist, Casanova.”

Before Peter can respond, Juno is kissing him, too hard and too deep for Peter to remember what he was going to say. He opens his mouth for Juno and lets him, surrenders to Juno’s touch, digs his fingers into the muscles of Juno’s back and lets himself be swept away.

Juno rolls his hips, and Peter whimpers, pressing his cock up, rubbing it on Juno’s thigh. Juno shifts obligingly, returns the friction, and he then he bends his head to trail kisses down Peter’s bare chest. Peter tilts his chin back and holds on, lost in the heat of Juno’s mouth. He scrapes his teeth along the skin just above his collar bone, and electricity runs across Peter’s body.

“Harder,” he begs.

“I’ll leave a mark,” Juno says.

“I want you to.” Peter is always so careful to cover his little blemishes, his scars, but he wants to wake up tomorrow with lipstick on his collar and a chain around his neck, still smelling of Juno. He would rather be Juno’s than be beautiful.

Juno tangles one hand in Peter’s hair to tilt his chin up and suctions his lips to the space where Peter’s jawbone ends, and Peter closes his eyes and lets him. The twin sensations have him floating, head swimming. He can barely breathe. Juno’s mouth moves on, down his throat, over the places he has just gently kissed and Peter arches his back, encourages him with moans that sound like they are coming from far away. Juno presses down on the spot just over Peter’s heart, and then he adds his teeth.

He shoves one hand between them, under the waistband of Peter’s underwear, and rubs his hand up Peter’s shaft without pausing his attention to Peter’s collar bones. Peter’s breath catches in his throat and he drags Juno up to his mouth for another kiss.

“Will you—will you fuck me?” Peter asks.

A question flits across Juno’s face, but then he just nods and pulls himself away from Peter. Cold air rushes in between them as he shifts positions, then he presses one last kiss to Peter’s lips before he turns him over and pulls his underwear off. Peter presses his face into the pillow while he listens to Juno fumble for lube.

He kisses Peter’s shoulders and then the back of his neck, one hand gently guiding Peter’s hips up. He presses one slick finger inside of Peter and he lifts his ass in answer.

“That’s good,” Juno soothes, voice husky. He adds another finger, slowly stretching Peter while still keeping him still with his other hand. It has been a long time since Juno has topped him and he sinks his teeth into his arm to keep from whimpering. Juno keeps talking to him, gentle praises as he spreads his fingers inside of Peter, presses deeper.

“You ready?” He asks.

All Peter can manage is a breathy moan.

“You have to tell me, sweetheart. How are you feeling?” Juno’s voice is close to his ear, tender and warm, and Peter melts.

He gasps for breath, turns his head just enough to free his mouth, and begs, “Please, Juno, I need you.”

“I’ve got you,” Juno says, and Peter feels him shift, lining himself up, and then he slides in. For a moment it is too much, heat and pain and Peter can feel only the places where Juno is inside him, filling every atom of him. Then Juno begins to move, and that is too much instead, every movement pushing deeper, lighting Peter up. He braces his arms against the headboard and presses his face into the pillows and hangs on.

He can hear Juno breathing behind him, rough and unsteady, and his pace becomes faster, more forceful. Peter lets out a gasp that sounds almost like a sob, and hastily bites down on the pillow to muffle the sound.

Juno slows, then leans closer so his whole chest is pressed to Peter’s back. He combs Peter’s hair away from his face and asks softly, “Is it too much?”

“No—don’t—Juno—”

“You want me to keep going?”

“Ye-es,” Peter groans.

Juno chuckles, and Peter feels the vibration in his ribcage. Juno kisses across his shoulders and begins to move again, slow and steady, and Peter rides the waves of sensation, swept away by their connection. His thighs tremble with the effort of holding his weight up, his muscles tense and coil and lights dance between his eyes.

“I’m close,” Juno pants, and he slows.

“Don’t stop,” Peter answers, and Juno obeys him. He finishes inside Peter, grip tight on Peter’s hips, thighs hot and slick against Peter’s sweaty skin. Every nerve is on fire, every muscle is tightly coiled, but he can’t even think to ask for what he needs.

Juno pulls out and flips Peter over. Peter’s hands grasp for Juno, to pull him closer.

“I got you,” Juno says, and kisses his temple, then crawls down the bed to take Peter’s cock in his mouth. His orgasm, when it happens, feels like the last of many waves crashing over him, gently inevitable. He is weightless, the bed pitching side to side like a ship on the sea, and only Juno is steady. He would roll closer, but he is so tired and empty and pleasantly tingling.

Juno cuddles up beside him, warm and present, and lays an arm over Peter’s chest. “Sweetheart?” he asks softly. When Peter doesn’t answer, he asks, “Nureyev?”

“Hmm?”

“You okay?”

“Good,” Peter says. Everything is hazy, and his eyelids are heavy. “I’m all here, Juno. I’m with you.”

Juno leans over and turns the light out, and then he takes Peter’s hand and pulls him close.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juno's depression sucks all the color out of the world and wraps it in gauze. With every sensation numbed, he will turn to dangerous things to bring life back into focus. Thankfully, Peter has a fox's teeth and a willingness to use them.

Peter’s cool fingers on Juno’s wrist startle him out of a daze, and he flinches, his glass clattering against the table.

“Cripes, warn a lady, won’t you?” He mutters.

“I’ve said your name several times, Juno,” Peter says, low and worried.

“Oh,” Juno says dismissively, and takes a drink to cover his discomfort.

“Are you quite alright?”

“Fine.”

“Juno...”

“It’s nothing,” Juno says, not sure if he is trying to deflect or reassure Peter. “I’m just... having a grey day.”

He’s never really gotten the hang of explaining the way all the color drains out of the world, the way it takes longer for information to reach his brain, the way everything feels wrapped in gauze, but “grey” is close enough.

Peter reaches out, slower this time, and puts his hand over Juno’s. “What can I do, love?”

Juno laughs hollowly. “Fuck me until I can feel my body again?”

Peter searches Juno’s face, his glasses framing his earnest eyes and amplifying them. “Is that a genuine request?”

“I don’t know,” Juno says. He’s done a lot of stupider things when the color leaked out of his life, dangerous things, painful things. Peter is a safer, healthier haven, but that also means he might not be dangerous enough, and that he might have to explain afterwards what made him beg for harder, rougher, more. When he feels sick and sad, Peter is usually gentle with him, wrapping him up in blankets, kissing him tenderly, and Juno can’t have that right now. No, of course he doesn’t deserve kindness, but also kindness feels far away, muted, empty.

“Juno...” Peter says slowly, still searching his face, and then he seemed to come to some sort of conclusion. “If you want me to show you how much I want you, you only have to ask.”

That isn't exactly what Juno needs, but it's close enough. “Please,” he says, and then, “I need it to be too much for me to think about anything else.”

Peter hummed low in his throat, sounding like a smug cat. “Oh Juno,” he said. “I’ll do what I can.” 

* * *

Juno sits on the bed, stripped naked, every nerve alert. Peter stands at the end of the bunk, handcuffs dangling from one hand and a silk scarf in the other.

“Shall we go over the rules now?” He asks. Juno nods.

If Peter clears all the rules with him before they start, then Juno can lose himself in whatever Peter does to him. It will be all encompassing, overwhelming, and Juno won’t have to think, won’t have to doubt. Peter can treat him like an object, which is all that Juno can manage.

“Normal safe words?”

“I don’t see why we would change them.”

“And you swear you’ll use them?”

Juno rolls his eyes, old habit at this point. “Yes, Peter, I swear I’ll use them.”

“Good girl,” Peter coos. “Now, pick a toy.”

Juno looks at what is in Peter’s hands, and then his gaze slides to Peter’s trunk. It is propped open, silk dressing gowns and rope and a riding crop spilling out onto the floor.

Peter follows his gaze, and his mouth tightens.

“Juno...”

“You bought it for me.”

“For when we’re both in the right head space.”

“I am,” Juno insists.

“I won’t punish you,” Peter says. “No matter how guilty you feel—”

“That’s not—”

“You’re not—”

“Listen to me,” Juno growls.

Peter turns back and searches his face.

“I don’t feel guilty,” Juno lies. It is a small lie—he doesn’t feel guiltier than his usual state of being. “I feel grey. Foggy. I want you to do what you usually do, but more. Harder. I want to really feel it.”

Peter exhales, a tiny sigh, and Juno suddenly feels genuinely guilty. “I’m sorry,” he says in a rush. “We don’t have to—I know it’s a big thing to ask with no warning.”

Peter’s face clears, and he smiles, showing his teeth. “Juno Dear, you’ve just signed your body over to me. I can hardly complain.” His voice is a purr.

Juno swallows and waits for instructions.

“Hold still,” Peter says. Juno braces himself and waits.

Peter crawls onto the bed to lean over Juno and gently takes Juno’s eyepatch off, then swipes his thumb across the indent left from the strap. Before Juno can worry about the way his face looks, Peter has wrapped the silk scarf around his eyes. It is just thin enough that some light leaks through, but no details. It muffles Juno’s sight, makes him focus on his other senses.

“I can’t have you running away before I’m finished with you, now can I?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Peter hums consideringly and checks the knot. “I want to use your body until you’re begging me to stop. How does that sound?”

Juno swallows.

“I asked you a question, darling.”

“It sounds good,” Juno says quickly. “I want that.”

“That’s right,” Peter says. “You want to please me, and I want to own you. The prettiest thing I’ve ever stolen.” Peter puts his hands on Juno’s shoulders and guides him so he is sitting back against the pillows. When Juno had first started staying in Peter’s room, he had thought it was ridiculous that Peter hoarded pillows like they were canned goods, but now, cradled in a mountain of down, he understands.

Peter kisses his cheekbone, under the edge of the scarf, and then the line of stubble on his jaw, and then his mouth.

Juno lifts his hands, uses his fingers to trace the contours of Peter’s body, the long smooth lines of his limbs, the tension in his shoulders.

Peter whimpers and slides his hips forward so he is pressed against Juno, digs his fingers into Juno’s chest, and takes Juno’s lower lip between his teeth. Juno moves his hands higher to tangle into Peter’s hair, the way he knows Peter likes.

Peter’s groan is rough and genuine, and jolts, hands flexing. He rubs his cock against Juno’s thigh, hips snapping, but he keeps kissing Juno, teasing him. They are close and hot and sliding into each other, and Juno would savor this if he did not feel so numb, if he did not want to be roughly handled.

Peter’s torture is slow instead, his kisses gentle and teasing. He warms Juno’s skin with lips and tongue, traveling across his collar bone and down his sternum, his hands tracing hips and thighs. Juno comes alive under his touch, slowly, unsteadily.

All the while, Peter whispers gentle praises. “Oh, Juno, oh goddess, you’ve done so good, you’re so brave, I can’t believe I am the one who gets to touch you like this...”

He slides one finger along the crease of Juno’s inner thigh, and Juno inhales a sharp breath.

Instead of continuing, Peter rubs his palms over the fronts of Juno’s thighs and kisses across his belly.

Juno gropes for Peter’s head, grabs a fistful of his hair, and stops his ministrations.

“Fuck me, damn it,” he growls, but it sounds more like a plea.

Peter laughs, smug and self-assured, and tilts Juno’s chin up with one warm hand. “I’m not done with you yet, Dear.”

He presses a burning kiss to Juno’s throat, lips sucking at the soft skin there, and Juno knows there will be a mark there in the morning.

“Your mouth is going the wrong direction,” Juno whines, and tries to guide Peter’s head lower.

“Not at all,” Peter demurs. “I’m right where I want to be.”

His next kiss has teeth. Juno grunts and bucks his hips up. Peter’s nails dig into his thigh as he holds Juno down.

“More,” he demands.

The next bite is sharp and hot enough that Juno cries out, hands scrabbling for purchase, hips writhing. Peter still hasn’t touched his cock, but his thighs are trembling and he is hot and cold all over.

“Red,” Peter says.

“I’m good,” Juno says. “I’m good, please—”

“Red,” Peter says more insistently. It isn’t a check in. Something is wrong. Then he says, voice cracking, “You’re bleeding, Juno.”

It is the tone of Peter’s voice, much more than his words, that scares Juno. He reaches for his blindfold and slips it off.

Peter is sat back, straddling Juno’s knees, his hands fluttering over Juno’s chest but not quite settling. “I’m sorry—” he says nervously.

Juno looks down at his pectoral, at the raised and pinkish arc where Peter’s teeth sunk in, at the two pinpricks of blood where his canines broke the skin. He feels a thrill of excitement go through him. “Hot,” he says, without thinking.

“I hurt you.”

Juno pushes himself to sitting and takes Peter’s face in his hands. He wants to make another joke, to ask Peter to do it again, but Peter takes the wholeness of Juno’s skin much more seriously than Juno does. This is not about him, not really. This is about Peter.

“I’m okay,” he says. “I wanted you to bite me harder anyway.”

“But I didn’t mean to—” Peter’s mouth twists, and Juno understands, that Peter is scared of losing control over his own body.

“Hey,” he says gently, and kisses Peter’s temple. “It’s okay. You didn’t do anything that’s going to leave lasting damage. Just because you overshot a little bit doesn’t mean you did anything wrong. It’s just us; no one else has to know.”

Peter reaches up and squeezes Juno’s hand tightly. “You know I would never, ever hurt you willingly.”

Juno can’t help but laugh a little. “Sweetheart, I was just begging you to hit me with a riding crop. I’m not going to fuss about your teeth.”

“I—” Peter begins to protest, but then he huffs out a self-deprecating laugh. “Yes, Juno, I know your...proclivities.”

“In fact, I would kind of like it if you bit me more often.”

“That’s going to sting in the morning.”

Juno shrugs a little, as much as he can when he and Peter are still so close together. “That’s a price I’m willing to pay. I’ve been fantasizing about your teeth since you first walked into my office.”

Peter groans. “You’re impossible.”

“What I’m saying is that I was practically begging you to hurt me, and I wouldn’t mind if you did it again, intentionally. It was just an accident. No hard feelings.”

“Oh Juno...” Peter says mournfully. “Look at me. I was supposed to be comforting you tonight, and yet here you are.”

“I guess I’m feeling better,” he says lightly. “But if you really feel so guilty, I know how you can make it up to me.”

“I can’t imagine how,” Peter teases, and then he kisses Juno softly. “Thank you,” he says, with more naked sincerity than Juno is sure how to deal with. Instead, he kisses Peter back.

They fall back into the pillows together, and Peter resumes his caressing of Juno’s body. His hands roam, gentle, across Juno’s chests and down over his legs.

The mood is different, but Juno finds he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t feel breakable, or numb. He just feels loved, by someone who wants him to be whole, and well, and cared for.

It doesn’t take long for Juno to be hard again, and Peter seems done with his teasing. He works lubed fingers into Juno while murmuring praises to him, and then he slides inside Juno, warm and close.

“Fuck,” Juno breathes out, overwhelmed, and rests a hand on Peter’s hip. The other hand tangles in the bedsheet, desperate for leverage as Peter drives deeper into him.

He bites his lip and opens his eyes to find Peter watching him intently, mouth open as he pants, teeth visible in the glow from the bedside lamp.

“Enjoying the view?” Juno asks. “Because I am.”

Peter smiles, then thrusts into Juno so hard that lights bloom behind Juno’s eyes. He tries to keep his gaze on Peter; his hair is disheveled, falling into his face, and there is a furrow between his brows. Sweat drips down one temple.

“Kiss me,” Juno begs, and Peter does, hot and messy, mouth open.

Juno slides his tongue across Peter’s teeth, and tangles a hand in his hair to keep them close together. It changes Peter’s rhythms, their bodies pulled close together, but Juno is in no hurry. He would happily stay here forever, when there is nothing but Peter and him and sensation and desire. There is no room inside him for anything else.

Peter shifts slightly, and lifts one of Juno’s knees so he can go deeper. Juno gasps and squirms, and he digs his fingers into Peter’s upper arms, trying to hold on.

“Go on, Juno,” Peter pants. His smooth voice is uneven, breathy. “Finish for me, I know you’re ready.”

“Please—”

Juno isn’t sure what he’s asking for, but Peter seems to, because he shifts again, fits a hand between them, and strokes Juno’s cock until he comes, lights behind his eyes, gasping for air. Peter drops his head, presses his mouth to Juno’s throat, but he keeps going, thrusting into him, until Juno thinks he might burn up from the stimulation.

He tangles his fingers even tighter in Peter’s hair and waits until Peter finishes, legs tangled in his, hands tight against his shoulders, lips on his jawline, cheek to cheek.

Juno is tingling all over, and he knows he should move, should let go, but he can’t manage it. Peter lets out a little moan that might be words, but Juno isn’t sure.

Slowly, Peter pulls away. Juno hold on until the last minute, until his arms are stretched as far as they will go, and then he slides his fingers from Peter’s hair.

“Oh dear,” Peter mutters softly.

Juno props himself up on his elbows, shoulders protesting, and looks down at the map of bruises across his chest. He is sure his throat looks just as dramatic, blooms of dark purple against the red brown of his skin. He presses fingers to the side of his neck, and the skin twinges.

“Damn,” he says.

“I’m—”

“I feel great,” Juno interrupts. “But you might have to lend me a scarf or something tomorrow.”

Peter chuckles. “There’s um, one on your face. Just here—” He traces the corner of Juno’s jaw, just below his ear, with the gentlest touch.

“Oops,” Juno says, without any contrition. “I guess they’ll all just have to know how good my boyfriend fucks me.”

“Juno…” Peter demurs, but he is smiling. “I should clean you up.”

“But I was having a bad day,” Juno says. “That means you have to cuddle with me.”

Peter pulls away, and there is a faintly sticky noise when their thighs separate. He raises an eyebrow.

“Point taken,” Juno pouts. “But then cuddling.”

“Then cuddling,” Peter agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway I hope y'all like tenderness because even when my goal is rough sex, their love just oozes out of them.


End file.
